
Goin’ to Town on This Cone



Anyone who has much studied biology in general, birds in particular, or evolution specifically has undoubtedly encountered “Darwin’s Finches” and the remarkable diversity in bill shape that evolved among a species related to tanagers (not true finches) that became geologically isolated on the Galapagos Islands. Darwin visited the islands, which straddle the equator approximately 560 miles west of Ecuador, in 1835. There he collected (his servant shot) an array of birds featuring 18 different bill shapes. The variation correlated with the different foods each type of food the birds had adapted to take advantage of on the islands. As all of the species Darwin identified originated from a single type in genus Geospiza, Darwin’s Galapagos finches have long been held up as an example of how evolution works. It’s a complex process that occurs over time and I don’t want to oversimplify it. However, for the purpose in this article, it is useful to think of 1) an underutilized food source and 2) genetic isolation. The original tanager-like specimens of a single type in genus Geospiza became isolated on the Galapagos islands. Given an absence of competition from other species of birds and an abundance of various foods – insects & invertebrates, berries, seeds of different size -, various forms of the original type of Geospiza evolved different bill shapes and sizes (and even different body types) as they keyed in on a given kind of food.
Somehow, I think, (speculate), vocalizations must have played a key role in the genetic isolation that concurred with the move toward food specialization among these Galapagos finches. Most species of birds have a variety of calls and songs, each of which conveys a specific meaning. Black-capped Chickadees, for example, communicate with at least 15 different sounds (let us think of them as words) differentiating everything from the approach of different kinds of predators (one vocalization for ground predators, another for aerial predators) to vocalizations used during breeding, to identify food sources, and so forth.
Bird vocalizations play an important role in differentiating similar species. For example, although certain thrushes to the untrained eye appear quite similar, their songs are different enough to easily distinguish. Similarly, the Pacific Wren found in west coast states from California to Alaska is nearly identical in appearance to the Winter Wren which is found in the east and midwest. But the songs of the two species are different. Thus, they are genetically isolated from each other as much by their vocalizations as by geography. After all, they have wings. They are thus able to transcend geographical boundaries. Their songs – agreeable to members of their own tribe, a foreign language to others – helps keep the two populations separate.
Apparently a good bit of the above applies to Red Crossbills. I have photographs of Red Crossbills from Montana that show a recognizable difference from the Red Crossbills we encountered at Chignik Lake. The Montana birds have larger bills. What causes the difference? Probably diet. The Montana birds we saw were feeding on the seeds of Ponderosa Pine cones. My guess is that it takes a more substantial bill to get into the harder, tighter pine cones than it takes to pry apart the looser scales of the softer Sitka Spruce cones found at Chignik Lake and other locales in Alaska.
But, again, crossbills have wings. So, no doubt playing an important part in genetic fidelity among different types of crossbills are their various vocalizations. According to Audubon, there are as many as eight different types of Red Crossbills in North America, and these varying types are most reliable distinguished by their different calls. At least eight. I’ve read elsewhere that there are as many as 11 different types. This is relatively recent insight. In T. Gilbert Pearson’s Birds of America (© 1917), the Red Crossbills of North America are called American Crossbills; there is no mention of diversity among what was then a sparsely-studied species.
So, just as ichthyologists have come to understand the significant genetic variation that can exist among a given species of fish – such as Steelhead or Coho Salmon – as each kind of Steelhead or Coho has adapted to thrive in a given river system – ornithologists are coming to understand that there can be a great deal of intra-species variation among birds as each type within the species has evolved features allowing it to thrive in a specific habitat.
To me, the take-away lesson here is that we should not merely be focusing on the preservation of life forms on the species level, but that instead we should be dedicated to the preservation of each unique biome and ecosystem.


It wasn’t so long ago that I was at the stage in life where a number of iconic figures in the art and entertainment world had begun to pass out of this life. I am far from being a celebrity hound, but as I scanned the news headlines each morning, it was always a sad and somewhat mildly shocking thing to see that an actor, singer or other icon I’d long admired had been admitted to a hospital for the kinds of illnesses that portend the end, or that indeed the end had come. The mild shock in such moments stems no doubt from the reminder that in fact we are all, all of us, “in the queue.”
More recently, feathered in among these iconic entertainment artists, the mentor-friends of my boyhood have been departing. The deaths that have hit closest have been among the men with whom I had the honor of hunting and fishing, men who I studied closely and learned from. The lessons included the proper handling of firearms, where to look in a pool for trout, various forms of woodcraft and the like, of course, but more importantly my association with these men provided vital guideposts along my own path toward – and into – adulthood.
I doubt that there was anyone who had a greater influence on my young life than did Bill Kodrich. The winter when I was 12, he taught me to tie flies, the very first of which was a white-winged Coachman… I can still remember my clumsy fingers fumbling to tie in matched sections of Mallard wing. That spring at the small pond on his property, Bill let me borrow one of his fly rods as he showed me how to cast a fly line. Later, he brought me into the fold of Trout Unlimited, an organization in which my wife and I are proud to be life-time members. (Bill, who was a biology professor at Clarion State College/University, served as Pennsylvania’s TU President and in 1991 received TU’s Distinguished Service Award.
As important as those early lessons were, it has been Bill’s example that has had the greater impact. Were one to glance at my various tools, fly boxes, cookware and so forth, one might notice every drill bit accounted for and in its proper place, flies arranged in tidy rows, cookware stored thoughtfully, clean and cared for. “This is the way Bill would do it,” I’ve said to Barbra or thought to myself countless times – and will continue to do so, a fly rod wiped clean and returned to its proper place on wall pegs after a day’s fishing bringing back fond memories of Clarion and of hunting and fishing with Bill and studying his example. In fact, I find that as I pass by vegetable gardens here and there, compared with the impeccably well-ordered rows Bill attended to, all are somewhat wanting. And it’s seldom that I have a really good piece of pie and he doesn’t come to mind. “We’ve got to fuel up if we’re going to be spending the day…” hunting or fishing.
The testament of Bill’s life – of the lives of all of these mentors from my youth – is that even a little attention cast to a young person can have an impact that lasts a lifetime. It is a legacy grander and more meaningful than the largest mansion, a pile of money to the sky, or fame in any measure.
JD, Cordova, Alaska



